


Evidence

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Smutuary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 04:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: Phryne had always known that Jack was a man with a plan. She just didn't realize how detailed that plan was.A Smutuary story for the prompt: Standard.Featuring original fanart by @letitflytoapril.





	Evidence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> Look, we all know I should never have been let near [Smutuary](https://ohrosewhatsinaname.tumblr.com/post/182110065731/the-holidays-are-over-ficathon-posting-is-winding) in the first place, let alone taken a second prompt, but _there were extenuating circumstances, people!_
> 
> First, whopooh had to go and plot bunny me with a frankly excellent question about Jack's hair.
> 
> Then, the extremely talented [@letitflytoapril](https://letitflytoapril.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr very kindly offered to provide original fanart.
> 
> And finally (and most importantly) - it's the amazing Fire_Sign's birthday! And how could I let such a momentous occasion pass without celebrating it in fic form? The answer is I couldn't. So here you go. Happy Birthday, friend - hope your day is as awesome as you. :-)
> 
> Many, many thanks to Sarahtoo for the mercy beta read!
> 
> For the Smutuary prompt: Standard

Phryne took a few long, deep breaths and tried to will her heart rate back to somewhere in the vicinity of normal.

She knew that if she turned her head to the left she’d see Jack trying to do the same, though she currently lacked the energy to make such a movement.

This afternoon’s activities had been particularly… spirited. They had both been exceptionally clever during the morning’s interview - finding holes in their suspect’s story and building off the other’s observations until the man relented and confessed - and nothing turned Phryne on more than when Jack was being exceptionally clever. And to be reminded that the same was true for him of her, well… _spirited_ might be an understatement.

A pleased and satisfied smile spread across Phryne’s face. Out of the corner of her eye she could just make out the hard planes of his chest, rising and falling as he came back to himself. Breaths in and out. In and out. In and out, together. Different now than five minutes ago, but no less intimate, no less in sync.

Phryne reached out her left hand blindly in his direction and his fingers found hers immediately. Without a word they clasped hands as they continued to calm their bodies.

In and out. In and out.

Then suddenly, with a little squeeze goodbye, his hand disengaged from her own and his chest left her field of vision completely.

“Jack?” she called, finally finding the strength to turn onto her side so she could see him fully.

He was out of bed and already beginning to redress himself.

“Sorry. Meeting with the Commissioner,” he explained, wetting two flannels and placing one by the bed for her. “I need to be there in,” he looked at his watch, “an hour.”

“Oh that’s plenty of time,” she remarked, her head flopping back to the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

He snorted. “Maybe plenty of time the way you drive. Some of us obey the speed limits.”

Phryne yawned at his rebuke and it was only partly for comedic effect; spirited was _definitely_ an understatement. He shook his head, a familiar look of fond exasperation on his face, and she smiled.

She watched him for a few moments from the bed, redressing and readying himself to leave, and as she did, she realized something was off. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her chest for warmth and smoothing down her hair, which is when it hit her - it was his hair.

His hair was perfect.

Not just perfectly gorgeous, which it always was, but perfectly styled. Not a strand out of place, which was, frankly, shocking given the athleticism of the last half hour. And he hadn’t yet touched it since getting out of bed with her, so it wasn’t as though he’d already redone it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror - her own hair was disheveled and a bit wild. So how was Jack’s still perfectly coiffed in its standard configuration?

“Jaaaaack,” she called. “Can you come over here for a moment?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I am not falling for that again.”

“I promise to be good. Just one kiss?”

He shook his head, but ambled over to her anyway, his hands busy knotting his tie.

Phryne reached up with one hand to grab it, pulling him down for a kiss. The other hand she reached up and around, running her fingers through his hair.

At least, she tried to.

In reality, her fingers were intercepted by a layer of pomade so thick it could have been mistaken for shellac.

She broke off the kiss abruptly, which caused Jack to make a sad puppy dog face that she pointedly ignored in favor of questioning him instead.

“What on earth is in your hair?”

“What are you talking about? It’s the same pomade I always use,” he replied. Which might have been the end of it, if not for _the_ _look_.

It had only been for a split second, but Phynre had seen the guilty expression that passed over his face before he answered. There was a story there.

And she was a detective, after all.

“No, the pomade you usually use is easily loosened by my fingers. Whatever is happening now wouldn’t be easily loosened by a typhoon in Surabaya.”

“It’s the same pomade,” he assured her. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head in silent question. He sighed. “It is, perhaps, more than I usually use,” he conceded reluctantly.

“How much more?” she pressed.

“A lot?” he guessed quietly, busying himself with the buttons on his waistcoat and not meeting her eye.

“And when did you apply it?” she continued, smelling blood in the water.

He finished with his waistcoat and went to grab his suit coat.

“When?” she asked again.

Shrugging on the coat, he finally turned to face both her and the music.

“At the station. Right after you called to invite me for ‘lunch’.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew I had this meeting with the Commissioner, but after this morning I was very… hungry. For ‘lunch’. So I… ” he trailed off and shrugged.

Suddenly all the ridiculous pieces fell into place for Phryne.

“Jack Robinson, did you sex-proof your hair???” She gaped a bit in shock and leaned forward on the bed, her eyes wide and her eyebrows so high her bangs hid them completely.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I wish you wouldn’t put it _quite_ like that.”

“Oh? And how would you describe it?”

He thought. “Let’s just call it a preventive measure.”

“A - ”

“Phryne, sometimes you get… carried away.” She raised an eyebrow and he rushed on. “Which I love. Honestly. But afterwards, I still need to go back out into the world, not looking like the most beautiful woman on the planet has just ravished me blind. So… preventive measures.” Jack blew out a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. Seemingly unsure as to whether or not he should move toward her, he just rocked forward on his heels, a slightly guilty, slightly defiant expression on his face.

It was logical, and practical, and so very Jack. And, again, that might have been the end of it. Except…

“Measures?” she asked. “Plural?”

He sighed again.

“Just… nothing extreme. Little things.”

“Like?” she pushed.

“Like… like I keep some fresh shirts secreted around in locations you might decide to get romantic, in case of lipstick or… tearing. Your house, my car, your aunt’s. I thought about doing the same with trousers, but I don’t have enough.”

Phryne’s mouth hung open a little at his foresight. She rarely planned an assignation more than a day in advance. Jack apparently organized his laundry schedule around them.

“And?” she encouraged. She doubted that was it.

“Like I said, little things.” Jack furrowed his brow slightly, clearly trying to think of another example. “An extra bottle of aftershave on hand in case your perfume lingers and I need to mask it.”

“And you use it without shaving?”

He leveled a look at her. “It’s just what they call it, Phryne, it’s not a direct order.”

She shot him a thoroughly unamused look in return before rolling her eyes and smiling indulgently.

“You’re unbelievable,” she laughed, her voice full of good humor. He visibly relaxed at the sound and moved towards the chair by the door as she continued. “Only Jack Robinson would draw up a post-coital tactical plan designed to conceal trace evidence.” She shook her head. “I can only imagine what you were like when you were new to all this. Poor Rosie…”

In the time since their first fraught meetings, Phryne and Jack’s ex-wife had become friends, and Phryne now knew enough stories from early in their marriage to imagine the lengths he’d have gone to protect his young bride’s honour.

Putting his shoes on, Jack snorted. “Oh I never did this with her. Believe me, I wasn’t trying to hide anything then. In fact, I probably tried to broadcast it _more_.”

Phryne stopped smiling, instinctively pulling the sheet a little tighter around herself without thinking. “Oh?”

She had to give him credit, Jack caught the mood change immediately. “No, I just mean…” He hurried over and sat next to her on the bed, one shoe on and the other forgotten by the door. “I was young and that’s what you do when you’re a newly married, very stupid young man. It had nothing to do with her or you.”

“Of course.” She smiled at him again, but this time it was a little tight. Which was absurd. He was right of course. He and Rosie had been married, he had been young, no one’s honour was even at stake. Of course he would be more careful now.

Still.

It poked a little. Illuminated for a moment, however dimly, all the stupid little insecurities she rarely let see the light of day; she was too wild for him, she was bad for his reputation, they were something he felt the need to hide.

“Phryne…” he began softly.

She shook her head, banishing those little insecurities to dwell once more in obscurity where they belonged.

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “Really.” She shooed him with her hand toward the door. “Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

He looked at her, searched her eyes. She reached over and kissed him softly, trying to reassure them both with that simple action. “Go. And don’t forget your other shoe, I’m sure the Commissioner has standards.”

He nodded slowly, then walked over to collect the lone shoe. Redressed, and looking just as respectable as when he’d arrived at her house an hour ago, he moved toward the door. He reached for the handle and stopped, turning back to her for a moment.

“Do you have plans tonight?” he asked.

“Not yet. Why?”

“Can you meet me at my house after work? Half six?”

“I could be persuaded,” she said coyly.

“Please,” he responded with surprising sincerity, and she nodded with the same solemnity.

He shut the door and Phryne grabbed the flannel to begin the process of redressing herself. She had her own investigation to conduct.

\---------------------

Jack pulled up to his modest bungalow at 6:45pm, cursing both paperwork and less than competent rookies. The meeting had gone late and he’d been unable to get away until the report the Commissioner had specifically requested had been sent over in triplicate. And Andrews was a nice enough young man, but his attention to detail was sorely lacking. Jack knew he’d need to come up with some exercises to help improve that soon. Still, that could wait.

This could not.

She was sitting outside his house on the front step, which frankly worried him. Generally, she’d have just let herself in with her lock picks. That she didn’t feel free to do so tonight…

“I’m sorry,” he called, closing the car door and rushing up the walk. “I left as soon as I could.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him, standing on the step and moving aside to let him pass as he made his way to the front door. “I was enjoying the last bits of daylight.”

He opened the door and gestured for her to go in first, which she did, pulling the cowl of her cardigan up a bit as she walked in. Her sweater was buttoned up tight against the early autumn chill, and her long skirt didn’t appear to be terribly thick. He wondered how long she’d been outside.

Closing the door, he removed his hat and coat and hung them on their familiar hooks.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Please.” Phryne began walking toward the kitchen and took a seat at the table as Jack bustled around with the tea things. Once the water was in the kettle, he turned to look at her properly for the first time since entering the house. He took a deep breath and began.

“Phryne, about earlier - ”

She cut him off before the fourth word.

“It’s fine, Jack. Really.”

“No, it’s not. And I wanted to… wait here, alright?”

She raised an eyebrow, but shrugged her shoulders in acquiescence.

Jack rushed into his bedroom and opened his wardrobe, reaching back to a corner shelf that was both difficult to reach and impossible to see unless you knew it was there. Finding the item he was looking for, he moved back into the kitchen.

The kettle was boiling now, and Phryne had risen to pour the hot water into the teapot. He watched her undetected for a moment and smiled. No one would guess, but the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher made a damn fine cup of tea.

She finished setting the tea to steep and turned back to the table. Seeing him in the doorway she tilted her head in silent question.

Jack handed her the item in his hands. It was one of his shirts, and Phryne smirked when she realized.

“Secreting shirts in your own house too?” she asked.

“In a way.”

He waited, patiently, for her to realize what made it unique.

She _was_ a detective, after all.

“It’s missing buttons,” she noted. She looked closer. “It’s missing all the buttons.”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed. “You decided it wasn’t coming off fast enough and took an alternative approach.”

She smiled salaciously at the memory, then looked confused.

“Jack, that was… months ago. I would have thought you’d have had it mended by now.”

“I had planned to, but found I… liked the souvenir.”

“Oh, for…” she made a vague motion with her hands, and then at Jack’s puzzled expression continued. “Inspiration? When you’re alone…”

“What? No! Well, no, that’s not… that’s not the point.” Jack could feel his ears turning red at the suggestion, and redder still that she wasn’t totally _wrong_ , but that’s not why he’d brought it out and not what he was trying to say.

Her _highly_ amused expression brought him back to the moment. Snatching the shirt back he tossed it on the table and took a seat, silently asking her to do the same.

“Is that why you asked me here tonight?” she asked, taking the seat beside him. “To show me your torn shirt? Because I already believed you, Jack, I didn’t need evidence. I know I can get, how did you put it, carried away?”

“No, I asked you here because I acted like a complete arse this afternoon and I wanted to make it right.”

“Jack, I already said, it’s fine.”

“No it’s not, because for a second you thought I was ashamed of us, and that is one second too long for you to ever believe such a thing. Phryne, I... yes, at times I take steps to conceal our liaisons. And part of that is because I like my job and wish to keep it. There’s an element of propriety at play that I won’t deny and I won’t apologize for. I can’t show up to a crime scene or a meeting at Russell Street smelling like sex and French perfume and we both know it.”

Phryne nodded. That hadn’t been the part that stung.

“But there’s another part, which is what I do need to apologize for.” She opened her mouth to correct him again, so he amended the statement. “Or at least explain. When I said I’d never have done such a thing when I was first married, it’s not because I was an idiotic young man.”

She leveled a skeptical look at him and he tipped his head, conceding the point.

“Alright, it’s not _just_ because I was an idiotic young man. It’s because…” Jack paused for a moment, thinking how best to phrase what he desperately wanted to say, what he desperately wanted her to understand.

“It’s because I’ve spent the last two decades learning the hard earned lesson that you keep closest that which is most precious. You’re a passionate woman, Miss Fisher, and to be the subject of that passion is…”

“Heady?”

“An honour," he corrected. "And not one I take lightly. Phryne, I love that you feel so strongly about me that you lose control, and I love that you encourage me to do the same. But those feelings, this connection, is _precious_ and it’s just for us. I’m not inclined to share. I don’t _want_ to share.”

Phryne smiled softly in understanding and Jack felt the knot in his chest loosen significantly. “If you loved me less, you might be able to talk about it more?” she summarized.

“Something like that.” He grinned a little impishly. “I mean, just look at you - if I loved you less, I’d tell everyone. I’d take out an advertisement in the _Argus_.”

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

“Alright, I can see we’re not at the joking about this stage yet. My mistake.” He reached over and took one her hands, softly pulling it away from her chest and entwining it with his own on the table.

“But the point remains, I do love you more. And I am grateful for everything you bring to my life. And I asked you here tonight because I couldn’t let one more minute than was absolutely necessary pass without making certain you knew.”

“I know,” she assured him. “But I appreciate the gesture all the same.” She squeezed his hand, then asked how his meeting had gone. She was good now. They were good.

They sat there for several more minutes, holding hands and chatting about Russell Street business, as the sun set, casting his kitchen in a soft pink glow. After a time she shivered and seemed to remember the tea.

“Would you mind, Jack? I’m still a little chilly from the wait even with the sweater.”

“Of course.” He stood immediately to finish preparing their cups. Taking a glance at her outfit, he shook his head in amusement. “I have to say, I'm a little surprised. I thought after this afternoon you might show up here in one of your nightclub ensembles or just a trench coat and lingerie or something as retaliation. That’s practically conservative.”

“You know me, Jack, respectable at all costs.”

Jack snorted, finished making the tea, and then turned around.

He almost dropped the tea cups.

She had removed the sweater, and the skirt, and stood in his kitchen wearing only one of his white dress shirts.

“You left something at my place,” she informed him, eyes laughing.

“So I see,” he responded, putting down the tea he realized now would go undrunk. “I take it you found the shirt I’d hidden at Wardlow.”

“I _am_ a detective, after all.”

He shook his head, witty retort on his lips, then stopped. She was leaning against the doorframe, her small hands toying the one of the buttons, bathed in the final rays of a setting sun, and not for the first time Jack was struck with how breathtakingly lovely she was.

_I wish I was an artist,_ he thought, also not for the first time. But he kept that particular thought to himself. That was, perhaps, a confession for another night.

“You’ve been wearing that the whole time?” he asked instead.

She nodded in confirmation.

“And you’re not wearing anything beneath it.”

It wasn’t a question, but she shook her head anyway.

Her hair was still swinging from the movement when he crossed the room in two long strides, closing the space between them and lifting her up in one fluid motion to straddle his waist.

“Goddammit woman, I was looking forward to that tea,” he growled, already attacking her neck with kisses.

“Too bad,” she offered unsympathetically as he carried her down the hall.

“I suppose it’ll keep for twenty minutes,” he mumbled, lips and tongue too busy to be articulate.

“Forty,” she corrected. “I have my standards too.”

As they entered his bedroom, she ran her hands through his hair, more difficult than usual, but not as impenetrable as this afternoon. “And I’m afraid all the pomade in the world won’t save you tonight, Jack Robinson.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just spun around suddenly and pressed her to the wall.

She laughed in surprise and he smiled softly, delighted as always by that sound and eager to hear it again.

“You keep to your plans, Jack, and I’ll keep showing you how much more fun it is to lose control.”

He stilled his movements. Looked at her. Planned.

“Well?” she challenged.

He grinned and set to work.

\---------------------

An hour later the tea still sat in the kitchen, untouched.

And in his bedroom, Jack Robinson had one more shirt missing all of its buttons.

\---------------------

**Author's Note:**

> Original and wonderful fanart by [@letitflytoapril](https://letitflytoapril.tumblr.com/). Go over to Tumblr to check out her other works!
> 
> “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” is from Mr Knightley’s declaration of love in _Emma_ by Jane Austen.


End file.
